


MADE

by LittleMissG



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gangsters, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:48:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissG/pseuds/LittleMissG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They entered the bloody world of gangs with no option of looking back, but when a suitcase filled with information of their past is rumored to have resurfaced, they are willing to put their lives on the line if means protecting their loved ones. A high stake chase with only two results: get the suitcase back and live in peace for the time being or watch their entire lives crumble before their eyes. Somethings are meant to stay buried and they’re prepared to take their secrets to the grave.  [Mafia!BIGBANG AU] |  inspired by the Made trailer |</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Job Well Done

**Chapter 1: A Job Well Done**  
“ _Sometimes you have to choose between a bunch of wrong choices and no right ones. You just have to choose which wrong choices feels the least wrong._ ” Colleen Hoover

* * *

Six years of constant life-or-death situations. 

Six years of escaping the law.

Six years of their adolescence  _gone_.

Six years of evading their family, avoiding friendships or any liabilities. 

Six years of growing closer to people that started off as complete strangers. 

Six years of trials made to wither away the goodness in their souls. To shatter their trust in the world. To destroy their innocence and mold them into the perfected example of criminals.

Six years...

Leading up to this. 

* * *

"Do you think we'll get caught?"

"You know that we can’t think like that."

"But he’s right… If we get caught, it's over for us."

"He’s not saying that he isn’t right, but this is the last chance we're getting."

"But hey, don’t worry. The worst is almost over."

Five silhouettes rounded the trunk of a battered SUV, wondering if the deteriorating condition of the vehicle would endure the night. 

Rays of faded yellow peeked out from the blanket of slate clouds, drowning the huddled homes in a dreary light. In a few hours, everything would be done. 

Sharing a final moment of silence, they cast glances to one another before loading the truck. 

If everything went as planned, it would be smooth sailing from here on out. 

* * *

Gunshots erupted. The piercing noise shattered the eerie silence of the isolated streets. Seoul's towering city buildings shone from a great distance away. Snow gradually began to fall, layering the moist concrete in a slick cloak of white. 

Running footsteps were hushed as they slapped across the slippery ground. 

"Get in!" A voice shouted; panic and dread threatening to overwhelm his normally stoic demeanor. 

As soon as they were feet away from the back end of the SUV, gunfire exploded above their heads, forcing them onto the ground. 

"Shit. Shit." One of them mumbled; crawling alongside his partners. 

"We left the package behind," a third hissed, flinching as a bullet connected to the exterior of the vehicle. 

"We don't have time to worry right now," another responded, analyzing the dim surroundings. Although the truck was parked in a niche near the edge of the river, the area was open enough to grant the shooters a clear view of their moving targets. 

"But if we don't-"

"Shut up and get in!" A frenzy of anger ruptured alongside the wave of hesitation. The four figures halted in their steady inch, transfixed at the sudden boom from their usually composed friend.

Yet, they didn't have the time to question the impertinent orders. The gunshots quieted down - pinned on the possible reloading by the shooters. Those few seconds of security supplied them the slim opportunity to move onto their feet and into the safety of the truck. Barely drawing shut, the side door became the only separation between the five men and the torrent of bullets - a suitable warning that lurched the truck into motion. 

The driver managed to steer the rickety SUV into a narrow alleyway, using the tight turns to evade the nearing pursuers. Guiding themselves with landmarks they remembered passing, they managed to return to the main street of the town. Unfortunately, the peace did not last more than a few seconds. 

A pair of blinding headlights appeared in the rearview mirror. Their movements were rapid and chaotic, barely dodging a car about to enter the road.   
From the mirror, they caught sight of the passenger extending his upper body out of the window. He lifted a pistol and aimed. 

The rear glass burst as a bullet connected with the fragile surface. A shower of jagged shards caught the light as it descended upon the backs of the three figures. 

"Are you guys alright?" 

Although several pieces managed to embed into their backs, arms, among other places, they nodded solemnly. 

Meanwhile, the driver was well aware of their perilous situation and instinctively slammed his foot into the gas. 

"Duck!" One of them shouted, turning his gaze away from the car tailing them. He draped his arms around the men situated on either side of him before pushing them forward. Several bullets collided with the front mirror, causing the car to meander off the road and onto the sidewalk. 

"Get the gun." The driver said through gritted teeth, attempting to regain control of the wavering SUV. It was certainly taking a beating and he was growing extremely unsure about the truck lasting the night. 

The man seated besides the preoccupied driver, popped open the safety compartment and fished out a semiautomatic pistol. He rolled down the window and prepared to shoot. 

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots connected with the pursuing driver. The car skidded into a halt, teetering on its side wheels before slamming onto the pavement. 

Bang. Bang. Bang. 

Another three were shot. He couldn't risk any survivors escaping and chasing after them. Survivors meant witnesses. And witnesses were the one thing they couldn't afford.   
Behind the shot car came another two, but their reckless speed sent them head first into an innocent's car. Screeching tires and metal folding and cracking were the last thing they heard before escaping the perils of the town. 

"Are we out?" A voice chirped from the back. Lifting his head, he gazed out at the darkening road. Hair was matted to his sweaty forehead; smooth features contorted into a look of discomfort every moment the car jerked. His demeanor of pain was shared by the men seated beside him. 

"We're almost back at the warehouse." The man in the passenger seat answered, tossing the empty gun to the floor.

The shimmering city lights were growing closer as they neared the outskirts.  He cast an analytical glance to his brooding friend absorbed in the road ahead. His knuckles were a stark white as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. 

Noticing his tense attitude, they chose to maintain their silence. At least, until they reached Seoul. For the time being, their only communication was quick glances and shrugs.

“Jiyong.” They addressed the driver. 

Jiyong, as his friends called him, shifted his gaze to the shattered rear view mirror, watching his friends from there. 

“I’m fine, Ri.” He replied. The ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Despite the grin inching onto his face, a flicker of rage shone in his dark eyes.

His friends observed him, deciding to put this aside for the time being.

In the past few months, this situation had grown all too familiar.

Even though they’ve been exposed to the underground crimes since their early teenage years, they managed to salvage their mental health and goodness. They were still able to share laughs and explore the city as if they were normal adults. But, it was their inevitable fate to become deeply intertwined with such a dangerous game.

Their families weren’t the richest, but they weren’t the poorest either. They could get by without much trouble. But as they neared their high school years, their neighborhoods were suddenly plagued with an entire war between local gangs. Moving wasn’t an option. Enduring it was their only choice at that time. While they attended the same school, they didn’t acknowledge each other until things grew out of hand. 

The local gangs were becoming more and more disruptive, invading shops and homes. Dropping bodies like there was no tomorrow. But one day, the junior high was situated between their crossfires. Children died. Those who survived either left on a gurney or weren’t seen until a week later. They were the latter. That week was spent in isolation. In the arms of criminals and threats. Leave and your family dies. You leave dead or you live as one of us. 

Six years later and the gang certainly kept their word. All five of them managed to survive the remaining of their teenage years, avoiding risks that would put their families in danger. Instead of sneaking out to attend parties, they were the ones sneaking in illicit narcotics and alcohol to underage partiers. While their classmates prepared to spend their summers working in a shop, they prepared to aid their bosses in whatever illegal activities they were brewing. As soon as they hit a legal age, they escaped the homes of their parents and set off to live their own lives. They did it out of love. They left to protect them. To remove them from the entire equation. Any money they received directly went to help them.

But.

As they succeeded with every task assigned, each of them acquired their own set of sinful behavior. Beneath their gentlemen exteriors were thoughts too extreme for someone their ages. Of course, they learned to ignore their devilish urges and heed their words of their concerned parents. 

Lately, the fear and despair they managed to hide for the past few years was slowly, but steadily finding its way to the surface. 

Jiyong’s anger was an example. A side-effect of the violent world they’ve grown accustomed to. Little by little, his level of rage continued to increase. The littlest of things was beginning to set him off. Years ago, his eyes shined with childish mirth, now they glowed with the devil’s passion. The rest of the group allowed him to cool off, fully comprehending that his anger was never aimed towards them. Rather, his anger was the only thing keeping him alive.

Their sins, past and present, were the only things that fueled their ambition to continue.

* * *

"Where's the package?" A pot-bellied and average height man questioned. Chi Jun Yeong was the way he was commonly referred to by his employees. He crossed his arms above his chest; beady eyes drifted over the five young men situated in front of him. 

Each of his co-workers were held by a personal bodyguard of his, even if they were currently of equal rank to him. Although they were caked in grime and a few with blood, he gestured to his bodyguards to force them onto their knees. Rather than being bounded by ropes, his escorts took the initiative of twisting their arms back. Such a position restricted any major movement, unless they craved the sensation of their shoulders popping out of their sockets. 

"Where's the package?" He repeated; his voice was raspy - a telltale sign of his lengthy smoker years. 

"We weren't able -," The youngest one started, but his assigned guard applied pressure to his upper arm. Shreds of glass dug deeper into his skin, drawing blood and a pained shout. 

"We stated that if you didn't -," Jun Yeong commenced, visibly exasperated.

"We were being shot down. We would have been killed." Although the agony was visible in his expression, Ri managed to choke out the words. His partners watched, unable to add to his response. 

A vein grew evident in Jun Yeong's forehead. His jaw tense. His hands leaving his chest and resting at his side. 

"You're going to be killed for not bringing the package," Jun Yeong spoke through gritted teeth. "You should have tested your luck and tried to go back for the package. There’s five of you, for fuck’s sake. How hard is it to get a goddamn suitcase?"

Chi Jun Yeong referred to the task as if it was child's play. The task was to infiltrate a heavily guarded nightclub in Dongducheon, walk out unscathed with a case, and return back to Seoul. It was ruined when US personnel crashed the rave and arrested the main bouncers of the crowded revenue. The military invaded, heading directly toward the line of Grade-A weapons distributed out of the unregistered basement. 

Staying behind to grab the briefcase wasn't an option. Unless they wanted to die at the hands of US officers. 

"You can't kill us," Daesung fought the tightening grip of his captor. Before leaving Seoul, they received a call from the main head, P'o Jong. He offered them full immunity, if they completed something for him. Daesung hoped Jun Yeong heard the news and allowed them to go free. 

"Jun Yeong, kill these stupid teenagers! They're challenging your authority and behaving like idiotic brats.." Daesung's captor spoke with a haughty tone, quickly convincing his partners. They verbalized their discontent, discreetly hurting their captured victims. 

Jun Yeong lifted his hand, hushing his rowdy crew. He seemed to have calmed down enough to speak another order, "Let them go."

Daesung released an inaudible sigh of relief, grateful that Jong passed on the message. 

"Boss," the guards retorted. 

"Let. Them. Go." Jun Yeong said. 

His patience was running thin as he curtly ignored the protests. The annoyed guards removed their iron-grips from the arms of the relieved men. A harsh shove and then, they took their respective steps back. 

Whatever Jun Yeong had planned required planting trust in the minds of his workers. 

"There needs to be a job to make up for such a bad loss. You can't expect to horribly fail a mission and leave without some sort of punishment." Jun Yeong added, observing the faces of the kneeled men. 

"Tell me whose fault it was," Jun Yeong continued, "And only he will face the consequences. The rest of you will leave here in one piece." 

Chi Jun Yeong waited for a response, noticing the little changes in their demeanor. Hesitancy flickered in their dark eyes. Whoever spoke would die alongside the other four. Betrayal wasn't something taken lightly by their group. Evidently, a confession would allow him to kill two, five birds with one stone. 

Jiyong glanced at his four friends, compelled to place the blame on himself. But, he noticed the slight head shakes besides him. It couldn't be this simple. 

In the end, they settled with silence. 

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he tried to regain his usual composure. "Why would I expect an answer? You're all too loyal to each other."

He waited for another wave of sass, infuriated that they chose now to keep quiet. 

His clenched and unclenched his hands, contemplating what route to take. Fingers crawled to his holster, wrapping around the grip of a gun. 

"That loyalty will be the death of all you." He mumbled under his breath. 

He fished the gun out of his holster, letting drop to the floor. Resting his foot on the gun, he eyed the men in the warehouse. 

"Whoever picks up the gun," he kicked it in the direction of the silent teens. The gun skidded to a stop inches away from them. "And kills the other four. Passes the test."

He remained still, waiting for one of them to crack. Whoever was audacious enough to pick up the gun and shoot was also stupidly falling for his plan. This was his perfect opportunity to create a scapegoat and climb up the ranks. Instead of becoming a possible working for five 19 year olds, he would be recognized for killing the traitors of the group. 

Seconds passed. 

Yet, none of them reached for the gun. Or even made the slightest attempt to outwit him. They remained still. 

“Looks like you guys need some initiative,” Jun Yeong growled, grabbing his second pistol and aiming it at Jiyong. 

At the sight of a barrel aimed at Jiyong direction’s, his friends immediately understood what needed to happen. A minor nod was enough of a signal for Jiyong.

He threw out his arm, grabbed the gun, and slowly moved onto his feet. While his back faced Jun Yeong, his gun was aimed directly at his right hand man.

“Job well done, Jiyong.” Jun Yeong lowered his weapon and waited for the situation to unfold. “Now kill them, unless you’re tempted to see your family die as well.” Jun Yeong sneered; the comment meant to enrage Jiyong even more. 

The unnecessary mention of his family sent a shudder down his spine. He had seen firsthand what they were capable of doing. Merciless killing. Prolonged torture. Worst of all, he would be forced to watch every despicable second of it. 

His mind made the mistake of fabricating a scenario. A gruesome image of him participating in the brutal killings. 

His rage…

Towards his friends for letting him do this.

Towards the gangs that destroyed his childhood and set him on a path of madness.

Towards Jun Yeong for giving him a horrible choice.

His rage towards everything exploded.

Bang.

One shot in the chest.

Bang.

A second.

Bang.

A third.

Bang.

A fourth.

Bang.

A fifth. 

Five lifeless guards collapsed to the ground.

Before Jun Yeong could react, Jiyong shifted on his feet and aimed at him.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Shots resonated through the steel warehouse as Jiyong emptied the rounds.

With each shot he walked closer and closer until he hovered above the bleeding corpse, “A job well done, indeed.”


	2. The Calm

**Chapter 2: The Calm**  
_“Temper us in fire, and we grow stronger. When we suffer, we survive.” -_ Cassandra Clare

Seoul’s crowded streets drowned the buzzing noise in their heads. They walked beside each other, never drifting more than a few inches apart. Walking - if their sluggish movements were considered that - was the only task they had left for the night, but their injuries were making it rather hard to complete.

Several blocks ago, they ditched the battered SUV. The bullet holes, cracked windows, and the blood stains would prove to be too inconspicuous. While the blood could possibly be used to track them down - not that they had the luxury of waltzing into a hospital - leaving the vehicle behind a shop in outside of Gangnam was the better option considering their problems.

“Ugh,” a slight groan escaped Jiyong’s mouth as a passerby collided into his side. Mumbling an apology, the woman ducked her head and hurriedly kept walking. The surrounding pedestrians registered the strained aura teeming off the five teenagers and chose to avoid direct confrontation; they simply remained a safe distance away as they continued their nightly walks.

Daesung craned his head to the side, squinting as the vivid lights of a bakery flooded his view. Cuts and bruises adorning folded arms were distinguishable in the sudden bath of pale light. As the shot of adrenaline gradually lost its strength, lead settled in his veins and a throbbing ache descended through his injured muscles.

“Has the bleeding stopped?” Daesung slowed his pace to match Jiyong’s, flinching as he felt a sharp sensation travel down his spine.

“I can’t believe that bastard managed to hit me,” Jiyong responded with an annoyed tone. His shoulder was busted. Chi Jun Yeong didn’t die without a fight. Two of his shots connected with Jiyong. One in the shoulder. Another in his lower side. Neither were fatal, but they hurt like a bitch.

“I doubt Jong will let us head to a hospital,” Youngbae thought aloud; his movements, in particular, were slow and forced. Every step appeared to send a stroke a pain through his lower back. Out of the three located in the backseat, he received the most damage. Although his jacket hid the wounds, glass was implanted in his skin. And with every movement taken tonight, his injuries would be difficult to bandage without medical help.

"Fuck," Jiyong folded into himself, clutching his bleeding side. He turned his head back, searching the crowd for the owner of the elbow that jabbed his side. What a coincidence that the hit landed directly in his bleeding wound.

Daesung slid an arm underneath Jiyong's helping him onto his feet.

"We're being tailed." Youngbae added as he moved to aid Daesung in carrying Jiyong.

"Where are they?" Seunghyun questioned, prepared to search for the pursuers.

"Don't," Seungri nudged Seunghyun's hand away from his belt. "We're suspicious as it is. Let's just hurry to the building before it gets worse."

"I'll carry him, Youngbae. I'm the one with the least injuries here." Seunghyun urged him away from Jiyong. "Stick with Ri."

They attempted to increase their pace, but the thickening throng of people made it difficult to succeed without being shoved and hurt.

With cautious steps and wary eyes, they continued their trek to the hotel dominating the skyline. Minutes passed until they entered the towering inn - a 17 story building in the heart of Gangnam.

Although it was well into unsightly hours of the evening, the lobby was still flooded with guests.

“Tell Jong we’re here,” Ri flashed a smile at the woman seated behind a sleek counter. His warm grin outshined the blood and grime on his forehead.

She nodded, dialing and quickly responding, “Go ahead. He’s in the penthouse.”

Ri bowed his head, mumbling a word of thanks.

“Don’t you think this is too obvious of a route?” Seunghyun tilted his head in the direction of the onlookers.

“We’ve already met half of them,” Daesung said, hurrying to the elevator with Jiyong. Jiyong's shirt was soaked with red and the quicker they got upstairs, the quicker they all received medical help.

Seunghyun surveyed the crowd, registering a multitude of familiar faces. Ranging from politicians knee-deep in narcotic debts to neighborhood loan sharks, all under the thumb of their ruthless boss.

“If anything, this will increase their respect towards us,” Seungri added. His point was proven when a huddled group of darkly clad men eyed them with minor disdain. Nineteen year olds with more leverage than men working half their life here.

The gaze of a solitary black figure locked with Seunghyun's.

But elevator doors closed before he could realize who it was.

* * *

Pale pelts of snow tiger fur covered the sleek hardwood floors. Windows stretching from the floor to the spacious roof above lined the patterned office walls. Although the velvety curtains were partially drawn together, flickers of the lively city scape occasionally illuminated the secluded room. Ivory talismans rested on the mismatched furniture, attempting to coincide with the modern-day lamps and vases.

A mahogany desk dominated the room, imposing a menacing authority on whomever ventured inside. Behind the office desk sat a man of equal composure. A slim face consisting tan skin stretched over prominent cheekbones. Wide hazel eyes glittering with mirth. A defined jaw added to his looks. He would have been considered a man of much beauty, but the gray scar running from below his left eye to his chin disfigured his god-given looks.

"They'll have to be removed for the time being. I can't risk their lives. Not now for the time being," P'o Jong craned his head upwards from the mess of papers, slowly responding into the phone. The ghost of 'country-boy' accent appeared as he continued to speak. "Their potential has increased tenfold in the past years, but their inability to fall into line has become a danger. I'll clear it up soon enough."

A knock came from the door. "Sir, they're here."

"Let them in." P'o Jong replied, listening to the woman on the line.

"They're in need of medical attention." One of his attendees mentioned as she opened the door for the limping boys.

Struggling with their footing, they managed to reach the edge of the white sofa before collapsing onto its plush surface.

"Bring Dr. Park over. Ask him to bring the nurses as well," Jong surveyed the damage from the distance of his desk before adding, "These kids need it."

Finally hanging up the phone, he walked over to the huddled boys. Jiyong rested against the armrest of the sofa, visibly sallow and staining Jong's couch. He was about to comment, but realized it wasn't the best time to do so.

Nonetheless, he crossed his arms resembling a parent about to scold their child. In reality, he raked his eyes over the remainder of the boys, attempting to maintain a certain detachedness to the case.

Youngbae seemed to have had the worst injuries next to Jiyong. He proceed to peel off his jacket which was caked with dirt and sent slivers of glass to the wood floor. His shirt, although significantly more difficult to remove until Seungri helped rip it off, also found its place on the floor. Taut back muscles were laced with glass and bruises; the sickly purple of the tender areas blending into the oozing red to create a palette of utter agony. His arms were not in a better condition, sporting their own set of open wounds.

Seungri and Daesung were both seated on either side of Youngbae, receiving a certain extent of the damage, but much to their dislike, Youngbae threw out his arms behind them and shield them from a portion of the sharp rain.

"Daesung, are you alright?" asked the worried maknae.

"I'm -," he was about to say fine, but the difficulty to lean forward proved otherwise, "Don't worry about me. You're hurt, too."

Seungri, so absorbed with the condition of his friends, disregarded his own physical state. The adrenaline and innate worry made his glass ravaged neck, sprained wrist, and bullet grazed thigh nothing of immediate assistance. Unfortunately, Daesung's words melted whatever kept the maknae intact and unaware of pain.

"Jiyong, he's unconscious," Youngbae leaned over, about to shake his friend awake, but the excruciating pain overwhelmed and left him unable to make the slightest of movements.

"Where is Dr. Park?" Jong shouted, a bit too loud for the group's liking.

About to yell for the second time, the impatient man was silenced by the opening of doors. A man of short stature and bright eyes entered the room. If it wasn't for his white coat, he could have easily been mistaken for a school teacher.

"What's the problem? Did you break another - Boys! Goodness, what happened to all of you? I haven't seen you so hurt since..." his usually animated rambles were shortened at the thought. There wasn't a person in the room unaware of what he meant.

"Can any of you move? I don't think this is the best -."

"Dr. Park, I think it is best that you treat them here. We have items to discuss." Jong interjected. "I told my secretary to tell you to bring the nurses with you."

"Right, right. I would have just preferred to treat them in a sterile place. The glass looks -."

Interrupted umpteenth time, Jong left Dr. Park with no other choice but to work from here.

"Nurses, please hurry. The boys are in serious trouble." Dr. Park waved the nurses in, signaling for Seunghyun to help him with the boys.

"Please avoid staining the rug. A dozen people died to get me that," the man's tone was light, but his gazed said otherwise.

Jiyong barely registered his words; his slim body slumping into Seunghyun's grasp.

"Nurses!" Dr. Park rushed to Jiyong. A pair of nurses followed close behind him, beginning to retrieve the supplies need.

"He has two gunshot wounds. One in the left lumbar region. Bullet appears to be lodged. Second in his shoulder. A graze wound," Dr. Park continued his detailed explanation as he prepared to remove the bullet.

Jong, seeing that there was no point in him standing about, returned to his desk. He sighed, irked at the bright stain of red left on his couch. He wanted to discuss a proposal with the boys, but the nurses flocked over them, making it impossible for Jong to see their faces and their expressions to the deal he was about to suggest.

Tuning out the grunts and whines of pain, Jong dialed a number and resumed his conversation with the women he abruptly ended the call with.

"Is everything alright?" she asked, more intrigued than worried.

"Fine. The boys arrived. In one piece, surprisingly. I didn't expect them to return with so little damage."

"Two shots and sprained wrists is little damage?" The women laughed. "I told my men to go easy on them."

"You shouldn't have had. I wanted this to be a test. To see how far they've grown since their last mission."

"They killed your worker. And managed to take out the entire building of guards, might I add."

Another sigh from Jong. She was right, but unaware that that was his initial plan. He had already heard rumours of Chi Jun Yeong reselling shipments and money laundering. Handing the suitcase over to him would have resulted in catastrophe. Jong simply took the first step and convinced the boys to kill Yeong.

"You're right," Jong responded.

"Of course I am," her smug grin was seen through the call. "What are you planning to do with them?"

"I already have something in mind for them."

"Another test?" The woman sighed.

Jong drummed his fingers on a signed paper. Plane tickets and passports were placed beside it. "You could call it that."

The rest of the call was business protocol, teetering on the edge of underground gossip. He hung up then dialed another number. News of Chi Jun Yeong death was spreading fast; it was only a matter of time before his "friends" demanded an explanation.  

The chaos of the boys receiving their medical aid gradually calmed down. Jong lowered the phone before walking towards the bandaged quintet.  Meanwhile, Dr. Park lingered in the room. He strayed from the boys, visibly admiring the office. It was the first time he was inside the penthouse for a reason beside getting shouted at. He drifted from the fireplace, sliding his hand over the smooth marble, to the velvet curtains, pulling them apart to look at the vivid city view.

Four out of the five boys had distant look in their gaze; the haze of the pain killers kept them silent albeit with wavering grins. Jong got directly to the point, unaware of how much they would be able to understand. "Thank you for your hard work tonight. I took the liberty of contacting your parents and telling them that all of you would be going home for the week. Don't worry about explaining your absences. I already discussed everything with them."

He received looks of utter shock. Although he didn't know whether to blame it on the drugs or the news. Before they could even muster words of gratitude, P'o Jong was returning to his desk. "I hope my new right-hand men will return to me with newfound conviction."

Seunghyun, the only member not under the numbing influence of pain killers, bowed. Tears glistened in his eyes as he thought about seeing his mom for the first time in ages. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"You all deserve to rest. I'll see you all next week," Jong turned to Dr. Park, interrupting his admiration of a painting. "Dr. Park, would you do me the favor of taking these boys home?"

Dr. Park ripped his attention away from the painting. He would have to return another time to analyze the brushstrokes. "C'mon, boys. You're all going home tonight."

P'o Jong leaned back in his seat, nodding absentmindedly as the quintet repeatedly voiced their thanks. With loud and giddy voices, they rambled on about possible vacation spots. Tokyo? Jeju? Road trip?

Jong lifted the receiver resting sideways on his desk.

"Enjoy your retreat," he said as the boys finally left the room.

He hung up the phone.


	3. The Crucible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: following chapter includes drowning, fire, amongst other graphic situations so please read at your discretion.

**Chapter 3: The Crucible**

_"The loneliest moment in someone’s life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart..."_ F. Scott Fitzgerald

Tokyo was a familiar playground for Seungri. In the past few years, he had frequented the thriving cities for jobs and in his free time he wandered the center of the city, bouncing from one high-end restaurant to another. With his free time being reduced with each increase of rank, he didn't see himself taking advantage of all his new friends any time soon.

Yet, the week long vacation offered him the perfect chance to. It came as a surprise, not only for him, but for the rest of the group. P'o Jong rarely granted them a day to relax, let alone a week. It wasn't like him to even refer to them by their names; he adopted several names for them... Seungri was his.

At first, he believed it was to remove confusion between Seunghyun and him, but as the years passed, he realized it was Jong's method of distancing himself. Somewhere along the line, he accepted the name. Dawning it as his newfound armor. It annoyed him that Jong viewed him as a naive 19 year old, constantly reminding the group that they were only as "strong as their weakest link". The thought was enough to make Seungri scoff. Jong believed he knew everything about his 'proteges', but his friends only demonstrated what was necessary. Much to Jong's unknowingness, Seungri had maintained connections throughout the visited countries. He made new friends, learned business secrets here and there, and rarely lifted a finger to do dirty work. Seungri wasn't that different from his old self, just a bit more connected to things.

"Mom! Dad! I made reservations for a restaurant tonight," Seungri tugged a sweater over his head. "I need to go check on a friend. I'll be back in time to pick up both of you. Please dress nicely. I have a surprise for you both." He continued yelling, unaware of where his parents were.

"Why are you yelling? We're right here," his mother smiled, standing outside the room.

"Sorry, this hotel room is bigger than I thought. I wasn't sure if you would be able to hear me." Seungri fixed the collar of his shirt, grabbing a coat and sweater from the top of the bed.

"I'll be back later. I hope you brought a nice outfit," he hugged his mom, then his dad before leaving the hotel room.

Next stop. A club.

A club in broad daylight wasn't the busiest of things, but he somehow managed to get sidetracked by conversing with the owner about the situation of things. In Seoul, the tension amongst the lower-ranking workers was propagating. After the death of Chi Young, Seungri waited for the news to spread. His boss normally attempted to keep things to his eyes only, but he tended to disregard the presence of guards or simply the striking absence of someone like Chi Young. The owner, a young woman in her late 20s, heard from the visitors that the plight and shock of a worker so close to P'o Jong was surprising.

"I've heard your name dropped here and there," she mentioned, unable to go into more detail, "You're a right hand man now."

Seungri leaned back the edge of the bar; he didn't think the news would get out so soon. He hoped for the death of Chi Young to quiet down before people discovered their new promotion. But, there was only so much P'o Jong could do.

"I'd be careful if I was you." she added, reshelving the liquor. "You can't die when you owe me a favor."

Seungri laughed, "Speaking of a favor, when are you going to tell me what you need me to do?"

"I'm saving that for a rainy day."

Rainy day would be a understatement. Seungri anticipated something complicated. Her club, to a certain extent, was legal, but the occasional gangster and debt collector was enough to ruin the business. Thanks to Seungri's help on prior occasions, she had evaded the cold comfort of a jail cell.

Seungri - suddenly entertaining another conversation with her - lost track of the time and wasn't aware of evening about to fall... Until he received a call from his mom.

"Honey, do we wait for you or do you want us to go to the restaurant?" the normally soothing lilt of his mother's voice was replaced by worry.

Seungri checked the time. He had less than half an hour to get to the restaurant. He needed a suit... It was a long drive to pick up his parents. Would he even make it in time?

"I ran into some complications. I'll meet you at the restaurant," he combed his hand through his hair, annoyed with his disregard of the night. "I'm sorry, mom. I'll see you soon."

"It's alright, sweetie. Your dad is hungry as it is. He won't mind driving. Love you."

"Love you, too."

He hung up and texted them the address.

"Miyuki, do you think you can find me a suit?" Seungri pleaded, hoping his friend could help him in a time of desperate need.

She had paused her inventory check when she heard Seungri answer his phone. And, of course, she wouldn't let such an opportunity pass her by. "I can, but you'll owe me."

A sigh was what she received in response.

"I'll take that as a yes."

Seungri hated traffic. He detested it with every fiber of his being. What he hated more was getting stuck in traffic when he was already late. The restaurant was blocks away, but at this rate, he would arrive two courses into the dinner. His plan of spending the final night in Japan was ruined.

Seeing no other option, he attempted to park at the closest shop and speed-walked the remaining blocks. Thanks to the winter weather, he didn't break a sweat.

He hurried into the restaurant and told the hostess about the reservation. She escorted him to a secluded area, sliding opening the room divider to reveal his parents and their untouched food.

"They waited for you, " the waitress smiled and bowed her head before taking her leave. "Enjoy the dinner."

"You didn't have to wait for me -."

"The dinner was intended for the three of us." His dad reassured him with a smile, "But if it makes you feel better, I sneak a bite of the steak."

Before Seungri could muster a reply, a waiter arrived with a bottle of wine. Seungri realized that his glass was the only empty one.

"A toast... To our lovely son, Seungri." his mother lifted her glass, smiling proudly of what has become of her son.

Seungri reciprocated the smile, more hurt at the thought that they didn't know a quarter of what he actually did for a living.

However, he didn't comment and sipped on the wine.

"Is the wine to your liking?" the waiter asked, about to leave the bottle at the table.

"It's -," a cough cut his mother's response. She lowered the glass to the table, another wave of coughing racking her body. Seungri scooted over to his mother, placing a hand on her back.

"Waiter, bring her some water."

The waiter nodded and left the room.

She continued to cough; her body jerking forward with each sharp sound.

"Honey, are you -." his father broke into his own fit of harsh hacks, pressing a fist to his chest when a sudden pain erupted.

Seungri's mother placed a hand on her mouth, attempting to cover her coughs.

"Where's the waiter?!" Seungri half-stood to yell.

"Seungri," his mother stuttered, voice slurred. She lifted her hand to show him the indisputable sight of blood.

He turned to his dad to see the corners of his mouth stained with red. With a lurch, he folded forward before a splat of red stained the floor.

"Dad!" Seungri scrambled towards his dad.

He had seen this once before and knew that no amount of water would fix this. Instead, he yelled another time. Significantly louder than before. He situated himself between his parents, biting his lower lip to sustain his demeanor.

His mother tugged on the hem of his shirt, noticing the tears glimmering in her son's dark eyes. "We're... so..." Her words were gurgled, blood sloshing out of her lips with each attempt at speaking.

"Proud of you..." His dad finished the sentence, struggling to keep his grip on his son's hand.

"I love you, mom. I love you, dad. I'm sorry for this. I'm so sorry for this. You deserved a better son. I'm sorry." Seungri closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks.

Whoever said death was quick and painless never experienced it firsthand. It was slow and filled with the sound of his parents' choked gasps and the gurgle of blood. They jerked against him, spasming for a moment before finally falling still next to him. He wasn't sure how much they heard, whether they had realized how far gone his son really was.

"I'm sorry." he repeated the apology, leaning forward to sob over his parents.

They deserved a better son.  

* * *

The rolling hills gradually morphed into the familiar cityscape of outer Seoul. Taeyang bopped his head to the music; eyes on the road and hands on the steering wheel.

"You might want to calm down, Youngbae. We can't have a distracted driver." his brother, who was currently seated in the passenger seat, said in a faux tone of seriousness.

"I'm an amazing multi-tasker."  Taeyang mused, but ended up slowing his furious head banging to a simple sway of his head. Luckily, the melody of the song was softening and didn't leave him feeling out of sync.

"My driving skills are better than you think," Taeyang mumbled. Years prior, he never saw a necessity to drive, a firm believer of the public transportation system. But his involvement with high risk cases, a getaway driver was needed every now and again.

His parents were fast asleep in the backseat; the drive back to Seoul was lengthy, and they accepted any opportunity to get extra amounts of sleep. Meanwhile, his brother occupied the passenger seat and kept Taeyang busy with a conversation.

"How's Jiyong? You didn't mention him during the week."

"He's been doing alright." If you consider getting shot twice and killing six people as alright. "We've been swamped with work lately. I'm always driving him everywhere." A nightclub... The home of a loan shark... Infiltrating a mayor's human trafficking stunt... "He's gotten taller." Or maybe Taeyang had just gotten shorter. He didn't know anymore.

"Stop!" his brother yelled, causing Taeyang to slam into the breaks. Thank goodness for the empty road behind him, otherwise the abrupt stop would have lead to an accident.

"Why did you do that?" Taeyang turned to glance at his parents, who were beginning to wake up after the sudden jolt.

"There's smoke coming out from beneath the hood." A point to the front of the vehicle made him finally notice the cloud of gray smoke blocking the view of the road.

"Do you think we can make it to the nearest train station?" Taeyang checked his phone. "Or should I call a tow truck?"

His brother opened the door, having to wave away the asphyxiating stench of burning. He stared down the road; car after car zooming by towards Seoul. Popping open the hood, another torrent of smoke was released, engulfing the entire windshield. Taeyang heard several coughs and was about to go help his brother, but he had already closed the hood.

"There's a station a mile down this road. We can make it that far, but if it starts overheating again, we stop and call a truck."

Taeyang nodded before the the steaming car lurched into motion. He didn't understand how this had happened. It was a rented car, but it didn't appear to have any problems when his brother spoke to the dealership. Unless they completely left out that piece of crucial information.

"No point getting stressed over it, we'll simply head back home on the metro and call the dealership to reclaim their car." His brother added as if he was aware of his younger brother's mental turmoil.

"I'll buy you a new car," Taeyang started, having to maintain a slow pace as the smoke continued to obscure most of the road.

"With what money? Unless you and Jiyong left your jobs at the hotel and found something more high-end."

"I got a bonus this month. The manager was really proud of all the work I... we had done and we both got a nice bonus." Taeyang didn't miss a beat, which only made him feel worse about it. Had lying become this easy to do?

His brother laughed, "How big was the bonus that you're offering cars?"

The bonus didn't exist. What did exist was Taeyang’s involvement with Seoul's drag-racing circuit. Cars were sold yearly at Taebaek and he had helped a few customers evade the law when they decided to add illegal parts to the sold cars. A free car would be the least they can do for him.

"You're missing the point. I'm going to get you a new car." Taeyang said, sealing the conversation.

Soon after, his parents decided to join in, filling the awkward silence with worried comments about the smoke.

"Youngbae, are you sure you're alright?"

"Youngbae, are you sure you can see with the smoke?"

"Youngbae, just stop the car. We can walk."

"Youngbae."

"Youngbae."

The sound of his real name was foreign, but melodious to his ears. It filled him with a comforting warmth, reminding him that he still had a family waiting for him. His friends were the only ones that referred to him like that, but even then, Taeyang had slowly entrenched itself into his system. Whether he liked it or not, P'o Jong had made sure Taeyang and Youngbae were one and the same.

\---

"Are you sure this car is alright? I can call the dealer to search for a better rental," Taeyang offered, stopping his brother from opening the front door of the vehicle.

"It's fine. It's just a rental," his mother reassured him with a smile. "Go sign the papers, we'll be here waiting."

The car, a simple 2007 GM Daewoo, was already parked off to the side. Away from the rest of the rentals.

Taeyang sighed in defeat, no point in arguing with his parents. His brother flashed a smug grin and moved Taeyang's arm away from the door.

"You heard them, Youngbae-ah." He said in a teasing voice, nudging his younger brother away.

Taeyang cracked the most embarrassed of smiles; his parents were happy with the car - as old and small as it was - and ultimately, that was the only outcome that mattered to him.

\---

The line for the rentals was longer than he anticipated and with his luck, the other employees were busy with their own customers. Fifteen minutes felt like an hour to him; he was eager to go home, soak up the next two days before he had to return to his usual routine. By the time he had turned in the signed papers, an hour had passed. The keys were about to handed to him when a crack shook the building.

Alarmed yells erupted behind him.

"There's smoke!"

"Oh my god, someone call the fire department." People had rushed to the windows of the buildings, staring at the car lot for the source of the smoke.

"Oh my god, oh my god. A car caught fire."

"Was there someone inside?"

Taeyang felt his legs move before he could assess the unfolding situation. A car had caught fire. He left his family in a car. Shoving his way through the thickening mass of onlookers, he desperately attempted to return to where he left his family waited. He would arrive, find them perfectly fine. The burning car would not be theirs; it couldn’t be.

Through ragged breaths, increased heartbeats, and the ghost of a tremble appearing on his hands, Taeyang managed to get to the front of the crowd.

Black smoke poured out of the burning vehicle; the doors had melted away and slowly lost the grip on the hinges until they half-hung on the car. Flames licked the outside of the car, but had gathered in the inside, devouring everything it touched. Two figures leaned forward in the backseat while a single form - too encased in fire to be distinguished - slumped against the steering wheel.

Taeyang dashed towards the mess of flames, oblivious to the delirious screams he received from the observant crowd. Logic had escaped his mind as he hurried to rescue his family from the heat of the car. He lost the ability to speak, mustering choked noises to rouse his parents from the state they were in.

Fire bit at his hands, becoming an unnecessary barrier between him and his parents. The pain was excruciating; a million needle points digging into his skin.

"Get him out of there," he heard commotion behind him and suddenly felt arms loop around him and forcefully drag him away.

He kicked and screaming as his grip on his mother's shirt slipped away. Another boom sent sparks flying alongside the firefighters nearing the car and Taeyang.

His head connected with concrete; the growing fire blurring into a mess of reds and oranges. A wave of heat engulfed him, whether from the car or his own injury he couldn't tell. He heard the sound of sirens, but the noise was distant as he watched the car disappear behind a blanket of flames.

* * *

The stench of cheap tequila and cigar smoke permeated Jiyong's clothing. He lifted his bottle of alcohol and took a long swig, the caramel colored liquid dribbling down his chin and staining his shirt. He felt a shove from behind and teetered on his feet before regaining his balance.

Music bombarded his ears, reverberating in his chest. Between his drunken haze and the blinding kaleidoscope of lights, Jiyong barely managed to recognize the third bottle of liquor being handed to him. Not that it mattered to him. If it got him drunk, it was great.

He bopped his head to the blasting music; his body rhythmically bouncing to the beat. His forehead glistened with sweat as he was pushed against the sea of dancing bodies. The heat was overwhelming, but it took the edge off his initial attitude.

Another swig of the liquor and he found himself no longer dancing, rather melting into the pushes and mayhem on the crowd. Jiyong tumbled forward, shoved once again by an unknown entity. Much to his luck, the sea parted and he felt the harsh floor beneath him. Too drunk to care, he erupted into hysterical laughter; the churning ocean surrounding him finally took notice of the man sprawled on the floor, absorbed in his fit of laughter. A few stared down at him until someone - Jiyong had decided to refer to him as Friend because that was the only word he could think of - grabbed him by the collar and yanked him to his feet. Rather harshly to Jiyong's liking, but the alcohol made everything feel worse than it actually was or at least, that's what Jiyong blamed it on.

"Friend!" Jiyong swayed on his feet, about to drop the bottle but raising it to his lips at the last minute. His Friend rolled his eyes, annoyed with Jiyong's antics.

But Jiyong was having the time of his life.

When was the last time he had gotten this drunk?

His heartbeat wasn't racing like usual; his thoughts were jumbled, but weren't overwhelming like hours before. His hands didn't clench into fists; while his anger was drowned out by the liquor, it was still awaiting an opportunity to rear its ugly head.

Jiyong blinked rapidly, trying to regain his bearings long enough to retrieve the phone vibrating in his pocket.

He didn't bother checking the caller ID before answering.

"Hello?" He cleared his throat, unaware of the slur in his voice.

"Hyung," someone said in between sobs. "H-hyung, I don't know what do."

Jiyong stayed silent; the combination of the alcohol and his maknae's desperate sobs left him paralyzed.

"Hyung, hyung, I'm sorry. I'm such a bad son," Seungri rambled; Jiyong's consciousness gradually returned as he registered the sharp intake of breaths from the line.

"Seungri..." Jiyong's tongue felt heavy in his mouth - the similar sensation he received whenever he ate a bowl of spicy peppers.

"Hyung, please be careful. My parents..." Seungri's words were drowned by trembling cries.

Jiyong, about to respond, felt the phone slip from his grasp. The lights of the club blurred into an incoherent color palette; was it the music shaking him to the core?

Was he dancing or was the ground being yanked out from under him?

He threw his arms out, struggling to maintain his footing as he tumbled back for the second time that night. Something collided with the solid dance floor, but he didn't realize it was his skull until he saw his Friend's face looming above him.

\---

The first thing he realized once he came to was: he couldn't breathe.

Each attempt at inhaling was met with resistance; his chest wouldn't expand enough to allow air to enter.

He blinked his daze away, vaguely registering the outline of a form leaning his knee into Jiyong's chest.

"Get off of me!" He growled, thrashing his legs and repeatedly connecting his fists into the leg of the captor.

Or at least, that was his plan.

His words didn't escape his lips, rather they died on his tongue. Jiyong's mouth resembled a ten year old's after the dentist. Numb, stuffed with cotton. In this case, Jiyong's tongue was heavy and his cheeks felt puffed out.

The prickling sensation traveled throughout his body, rendering him motionless and powerless to his captor's strategies.

A splash of cold bitter liquid suddenly overwhelmed Jiyong. His captor removed his weight long enough to grant Jiyong the pleasure of breathing.

"Are you awake now?" The voice leered, all too familiar to Jiyong's ears.

His Friend.

"Turn him over here. There's a surprise for him," another voice. More airy and feminine arose from the darkness.

His Friend complied, harshly pushing the edge of his foot beneath Jiyong and turning him onto his side. Jiyong, although restrained by ropes and subdued with alcohol and traces of drugs, was conscious enough to understand the mess about to unfold in front of him.

The stench of metal and the dim industrial lighting meant he was in a warehouse, but the sight of his parents being pushed inside meant nothing good.

"Let them go," he wanted to yell. To kick and scream, but the few  noises he managed to make fell on deaf ears.

Crates were stacked and a chair was leaning against them. The woman, cleverly evading direct lighting, shoved his restrained parents forward and onto the chair then the crates.

"Jiyong, I heard you're a good shot," his Friend said, but Jiyong was fixated on the woman. She lead his parents atop the crates, signaling for a pair of men to near when his mother refused to head her orders.

His father, with his shoves and futile attempts to escape the scene, did not follow the woman's orders without a fight. Prepared to make a run, the couple was subdued when Jiyong felt a cold object press against the side of his forehead.

He heard a click.

"Stand still or your son is shot," his Friend threatened, pressing the barrel harder against Jiyong's already throbbing skull.

His parents listened. Oh, how he wished they didn't. They should have run. If he wasn't shot today, he would be shot another day. He didn't care anymore.

Again, he tried to speak. To verbalise an apology. An apology for dragging his parents into this. An apology for spending the last day of his vacation drinking, instead of being with parents. Yet, saliva was the only thing that escaped his chapped lips.

The woman resumed her task, lowering the loop of a rope around his parents' necks.

He kicked and screamed, feeling the gun dig deeper into his skull.

"Shut up!" His Friend yelled, slamming the butt of his gun into Jiyong's cranium. As if the alcohol and drugs weren't enough, the hard hit caused colors to explode across his vision. His parents were blurred and gradually disappearing beneath a threatening veil of black.

He was losing consciousness, but he watched the woman secure the ropes around his parents' neck. He watched her press her hands against their backs and push.

His parents toppled forward, suspended by the tightening rope. They clawed and yanked at the cord; a discordant orchestra of gasps and grunts reverberated throughout the warehouse and etched themselves into Jiyong's mind.

Warmth dribbled down his cheeks - a mixture of blood and tears.

The security and calmness of unconsciousness had yet to grace his body. He wanted to rip his eyes away from the ending scene, but his attention was glued to the sight of his parents' bodies slowly losing their grip on life and becoming nothing but limp figures hanging on a chord.

Curtains of black fell too late - the act had already finished and Jiyong was left with a startling memory to accompany it. He heard a thud, but was too far gone to realize it was parents.

Oh, they should have shot him.

* * *

Spending his week in Jeju wasn't his initial plan, but Daesung managed to convince Seungri to call in a favor and grant Daesung a pass to the best hotel on the island. He dragged his parents along because that was the entire purpose of the trip. P'o Jong, in the six years of working beneath him, never dared to utter the word: break.

Seungri discussed it with him: how odd he considered Jong's behavior, how even under such circumstance he would have thrown in money, but never vacation - let alone an entire week; most shocking of all was a promotion.

Some guards, even politicians, spent nearly a decade or two trying to climb the rings and maybe land themselves something higher than being considered a 'gateway' and a 'liability'. Yet they, a group of reformed teenagers ranging from 18 to 21, accidentally achieved the victory of being second to P'o Jong himself in a matter of years.

Seungri was smarter than Jong believed, Daesung was well aware of this fact. Contrary to the popular belief, Jiyong was the mastermind but Seungri tended to man the reins behind the scenes. With his quick wit and proliferate connections, he knew how to escape unscathed. They all did. Youngbae with his driving and hand-to-hand combat. Seunghyun with his shooting and lulling voice that always managed to convince even the most dubious of people. Jiyong with his little to no impulse control, confidence, and fighting skill that rivaled Youngbae's.

Daesung?

Jack of all trades, master of none.

According P'o Jong, he was becoming a dead weight. His words, while refuted by Daesung's friends, struck a nerve. Whether he liked it or not, his sole purpose of the job was to help P'o Jong and he hadn't succeeded in doing that. Daesung still struggled with the idea of cold-blooded killing; he still found himself hunched over a toilet bowl after watching Seunghyun murder someone. Even if it had become routine in the past few years.

Daesung wasn't one for killing; he hated the cold metal of a gun, the tightness in his fingers as he was about to pull the trigger, the resounding crack, how his heart raced as the bullet connected, and the sound of blood rushing in his ears when he was about to shoot someone. It was a one time thing. Not that he wasn't good at it, he wasn't compelled to spill blood. In self-defense or for fun.

His parents retained the image of their sweet son - with a contagious smile and a laugh that could possibly warm the coldest of hearts - and Daesung did not want to ruin that. So, even if his parents were to never find about his second life, he attempted to keep such a promise or at least, keep the flickering flame of goodness from going out.

A door opened, followed by the noise of running water. His parents were awake.

"Daesung, honey. Are you feeling alright? Why don't you go back to bed? It's awfully early," his mom, still in her pajamas, quietly entered the living room. Barely 7AM and Daesung was reclining on the sofa, eyes fixated on the ceiling above.

"I couldn't sleep," Daesung started, lately the words have become a routine answer. Whether to his parents or his friends. He struggled with nightmares, finding it close to impossible to sleep while the sound of ricocheting shots blared in his ears. His friends, Jiyong usually, entertained the use of sleeping pills. Occasionally taking more than necessary, otherwise they would encounter an onslaught of traumas and wake up either screaming or in the process of being restrained by their roommate.

"I'm going to go for a morning swim. Maybe it'll take the edge off," Daesung finished, after a long moment of silence.

His mother, still governed by the haze of sleep, nodded once. "Stay warm. Your dad and I are planning to sleep in before heading out to breakfast. Will you be back by then?"

"There's an indoor pool," Daesung reassured his mom, "I'll be back in time for breakfast."

He kissed the crown of his mom's head before heading out the door.

"Martini, sir?" A waitress stood at the edge of the pool, lowering her tray to the man about to sit where she decided to stand.

Daesung blinked the water out of his eyes, unsure if the waitress was speaking to him. "Sir?" She asked, staring straight at him.

"Are you talking to me?"

About to roll her eyes, she simply settled with a nod. "Would you like a martini?"

Alcohol? This early in the morning? The idea didn't sound like a good one, but his throbbing head and bleary vision needed something to take the edge off and swimming lap after lap was not helping in the slightest.

Daesung hoisted himself onto the edge. He accepted the martini with a cool smile and soft-spoken thank you. The waitress reciprocating the smile, tucked the tray beneath her arm, then left.

The sight of the lounge chairs posed a tempting opportunity to nap, but he did not expect to last more than five minutes into a nap before having a rude awakening. Instead, he took a sip of the drink before allowing himself to fall into the warmth of the pool once again.

He swam another lap. Followed by two more. Then another. Until his arms practically screamed for him to stop. Through chlorine contaminated eyesight, he returned to the edge of the pool where his martini remained unfinished.

The aching in his limbs offered no choice but to discontinue the laps. A sigh escaped his lips, but before the headache could resumed he downed the remainder of the beverage. He leaned back; the water quickly keeping him aloft as he faced the ceiling.

Daesung yawned - the slow lapping of pool water melting into a soft melody. The warmth radiating off the water enveloped him in a bubble of calm. As his eyelids grew heavy, he looked around to find the pool area considerably empty, aside from the scattered waitresses and a pair of couples lounging around.

Then again, it was barely 8AM.

Feeling his body grow tired once again, he swam towards an inflatable lounger.

_Better safe than sorry_ , he thought as he climbed onto the plastic surface of the float.

With his back against the plastic and gaze locked on the ceiling, he yawned again; eyes drifting shut and his body guided only by the smooth movements of the water beneath him. He mistook the loosening of his muscles, the slowing of his breath, and the darkness creeping up for sleep.

\--

He inhaled for air, but received only mouthfuls of water. Something was dragging him down, but with each jerk of his body, he found himself sinking deeper and deeper. His eyes were open, yet he saw nothing but black.

His lungs burned. His body ached from the lack of oxygen.

Daesung continued to fight - twisting and kicking and gasping for air.

Air...

A luxury he was familiar with only moments ago and now, he was confined to the depths of a darkened pool with no way out.

He thrashed, but it felt like kicking honey. The ropes binding his wrists dug into his skin as he tried to use his diminishing consciousness to slip free of the cord.

On his descent to the bottom of the pool, the blindfold slipped off his eyes but he could barely maneuver with the burning sensation filling his lungs. With his vision - although blurring - finally clear, he registered the floor of the pool was in front of his head.

His back was to the surface... The oxygen filled surface.

The water gurgled in his throat and his eyelids drooped once again. Darkness once again threatened to consumed him, but with the way his head pounded and his lungs screamed for air... He couldn't have asked for a better solution...

A harsh tug at his arms yanked him upwards until his limp body broke the surface, but Daesung barely differentiated the pain from the asphyxiation.

Water spilled out his lips through silence shattering coughs. His body lurched forwards and pain exploded in his chest. A shadow, much taller and leaner than his parents whom he had originally mistaken it for, hovered overhead. His eyesight was much too clouded to recognize the face, but he felt another tug and the ground began to move beneath him.

"Daesung! What did you do to him?" A feminine voice dripping with worry filled his ears. He, against his captor's movements, twisted to the side. The ropes circling his ankles and restricting his wrists made red erupt in the injured skin below.

His mother saw his son tied and soaking. Blood staining his arms, his legs... His mouth. His eyes were half-open and she was sure he didn't even know what was going on. His captor, a middle aged man with no hair on his head, pulled him by the ropes - treating him like a lassoed animal at best. Yet, at the sound of his mother voice, he smiled.

Suddenly, the ropes were cut and more water collided with his face. However much colder and shocking than his previous encounter. Frantically, he shook his head; his labored breaths echoed across the...

Pool room.

The blue waters sloshed yards behind him, but the sight was enough to send his lungs into panic. His mother, kneeled with hands bound behind her, was situated by the exit. A man, too large and lean to be considered Daesung's father, stood a foot or so behind his visibly scared mother.

To his right, navy blue curtains hung at the entrance of the changing room, concealing its contents from Daesung's sight. Inside his father, gagged and bound, was forced to watch the situation unfold.

"Kang Daesung, your mother speaks so highly about you. Top of your class... Charismatic... Handsome..." His captor trailed off, leaning in to speak the words. Daesung felt the cold barrel of a gun brush against his neck...

While the man spoke, his partner inched closer and closer to Daesung's trembling mother. Fixated on the threat looming beneath her son's chin was unaware of the terror moving nearer to her. But, Daesung noticed the slightest of movements.

He noticed the man go for his belt... For his gun.

Daesung never liked guns, but his dislike didn't stop him from grabbing his captor's wrist and taking the gun that was beneath his chin moments ago.

He didn't like guns... The way it clicked. Or the pressure he felt as he pressed the trigger.

He especially didn't like the way it popped and how the sound flooded his ears as he lifted the weapon and shot.

Yet, the man behind his mother was faster. Before Daesung's bullets connected with his chest, he had already pressed the trigger and his mother had jerked forward with a grunt.

But Daesung's father couldn't see the man behind his wife. He couldn’t see the man shoot his wife while Daesung attempt to stop him was seconds too late...

He could only see his son with a gun. And his wife bleeding out in front of him.

Daesung, wide-eyed and shaking, turned to see his captor clapping. A smug grin on his face. "Kang Daesung, I'm surprised. No one told me you were a good shot." The man, who had dragged him with little respect, now spoke like a proud teacher. Slowly, he backed away, pausing by the curtain. With a quick yank, the fabric descended to the floor.

Daesung stared straight into his father's eyes. The fear his dad's gaze mirrored the look he received when he was forced to interrogate a professor.

"Dad!" Daesung dashed towards the him, prepared to go down fighting.

Yet, his father shook his head, pushing back against the man who held him down.

His dad was scared... of him.

The image of their... his sweet son - with a contagious smile and a laugh that could possibly warm the coldest of hearts - was something his parents never planned to lose, but as his father faced his blood-stained son, he realized he had lost his sweet son a long time ago.

Daesung felt the blood drain from his face... His mother was dead and his father... His father didn't see him anymore. He only saw the blood on his face and the gun in his hands...

Daesung never liked guns... And now, he knew why.

* * *

A chilly breeze swirled beneath the overcast sky. Leaves descended onto the roads only to be caught under the shoes of passersby. Spring was only weeks away, yet winter showed no signs of budging. Trees were rather bare; an occasional plant sporting some color - a stark contrast to the pale scenery.

"Morning, Seunghyun." A store's clerk greeted the young man entering the dainty shop.

Choi Seunghyun bowed his head, reciprocating the sudden hello. The clerk appeared unfamiliar, but he addressed Seunghyun as if they had met before.

Not wanting to look rude to the new personnel, Seunghyun answered the abrupt onslaught of questions relating to his mother. 'How is she? Did she like the pastries she bought last week? She speaks so much about you.' Once the interrogation was over, many questions answered with a small nod, Seunghyun mustered a sheepish smile before beginning his shopping task.

Eggs. Milks. Tofu... A bottle of soju for dinner. Some ice cream for himself. He scanned other aisles and a few more items found themselves in his basket. He mumbled to himself, debating whether to get the vanilla or strawberry ice cream sandwiches. Both ended up arriving at the register.

Seunghyun stuffed his hands in his pocket, watching the man scan the items. Although nothing was odd besides the strange recognition of Seunghyun, he couldn't shake the feeling of dread seeping into his body.

Maybe it was just cold.

"Ice cream on such a cold day?" said the smiling clerk as he bagged the food.

"Goes well with wine."

The clerk made an odd face about to comment on such an odd habit, but Seunghyun bowed his head, retrieved the bags, and headed out the door.

"Tell your mother hello for me!" the clerk yelled after him, crossing his arms at such a rude departure.

He left the shop, prepared to interrogate his mother on the man. Had she spoken about him? What exactly had she told him? Where they really this close or was the man overstepping his boundaries?

Adjusting his scarf, he silently walked back home. Rather absorbed in his thoughts, he was unaware of the woman dashing past him. She collided with him, but quickly brushed herself off and continued on her way.

"Sorry! I can't be late."

Groceries littered the sidewalk; somehow, a few items still remained in the bag. With a sigh, Seunghyun gathered the spilled objects and returned them to the plastic bag.

Eggs. Probably cracked.

Milk.

Tofu.

Gauze.

The gauze caught him off guard. He stared at the object. He didn't remember even nearing the aisle of toiletries, let alone buying gauze.

Unless the clerk...

'How's your mother? Tell her hello for me.'

Scrambling onto his feet, he bolted in the direction of his home.

"No, no, no, no." He repeated under his breath, frantically analyzing the streets as he neared his house.

"Please. Please be okay."

He knew his lifestyle was bound to get him killed sooner or later, but he never imagined his family being dragged into it as well. His sister was at school, but it was almost time for her to arrive. His constant secrecy was a method to keep them out of harm's way. No one knew about his personal connections. The old gangs that raided his school years back had all dissolved into nothing. There wasn't anything left to hurt him...

His surroundings blurred into white, suddenly overwhelmed by the onslaught of thoughts jarring him to the core.

A few more steps, then a corner...

He would walk down the street, into his house, and find his mother in the kitchen. Waiting for him with lunch.

The unmistakable sound of screeching tires destroyed whatever shred of hope he was holding on to.

He rounded the corner.

"Mom!" Seunghyun screamed. A pair of black clad figures gripped the arms of his struggling mother. He dashed after them, only to be blocked by another man. Much to his misfortune, the man was significantly taller and stronger than Seunghyun. However, the sharp contrast in size didn't stop Seunghyun from lifting his knee into the man's crotch. A cowardice move as his trainer had often said, but it was the best he could do in such a situation. The man crumbled forward, snaking his arms around Seunghyun's lower body to lock him in place.

Seunghyun slammed his fists into the back of the man before repeatedly aiming for the nape of his neck. Again, he lifted his knee until it connected with something hard. After several frantic attempts of defense, he managed to pry the man off his form.

"Mom!" he screamed again, tears blurring his vision and soaking his cold cheeks.

She wailed his name, enduring the harsh shoves of her captors and the pain in her badly positioned arms.

"Let her go!" Under normal circumstances, he would be aware that words were useless unless he had actions to reinforce them, but the sight of his mother being taken away left him with no other hope than to yell commands. Maybe they would realize who he was. What he could do to them.

The man from moments ago ambled towards Seunghyun; his disorientation lead him to topple straight into Seunghyun's back.  They both stumbled forward, but Seunghyun was already in motion to head after his mother. He knew he couldn't handle the situation empty handed, so he pivoted to send his fist into the man's jaw. A sick crack was heard, but Seunghyun only cared about the man's gun.

"I'm coming, mom. I'm coming," he hurried to free the gun from the man's belt; his usual stoic attitude escaping alongside the kidnappers. As the disoriented man attempted to yank the pistol from the now standing Seunghyun, a swift kick to the stomach sent the kneeled man tumbling backwards.

"Get away from her," he dashed towards the men loading his mother into the back of their van. The drivers were already seated and ready to step on the gas whenever they received the signal.

His mom's captors didn't bother shutting the back of the van, too much in a hurry to worry about commodities like that. They shouted an indistinguishable word and the van lurched into motion.

Seunghyun didn't have time to think things through.

He lifted the gun and fired.

Over. And over. And over. Again.

He never missed.

The sight of one of the kidnappers holding his shoulder confirmed his thoughts. He shot again until he emptied the rounds.

The captors released his mother, sending her rolling out of the van and onto the road beneath the moving vehicle.

He dropped the gun and ran. His mother was bruised and cut from the collision to the concrete, but she was okay. She was in his arms and safe.

"Mom, mom. I'm here," he cradled her in his arms, ignoring the tears of happiness streaming down his cheek. He smile wavered when he didn't receive a response.

"Mom?" He shook her, gently but enough to spur a response.

She didn't move. She didn't blink.

"MOM." He screamed; she felt warm.

He felt it.

He moved her onto the ground. Red stained the front of his clothing. His hands were warm with blood.

With her back on the ground, blood slowly seeped onto the concrete.

Seunghyun held her head to his chest, sobbing into her tattered hair. His weeps morphed into bitter screams of remorse.

He was right. He never missed.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I had posted this chapter a few months ago. Originally, I started this fanfic in April when the MADE trailer had barely been released and I thought I would write this as the MADE series was released, but things happened and I just couldn’t continue with it. But now, I’ve been feeling significantly better. While I seem to have some inspiration at the moment, I hope it lasts and I can actually expand on this idea. I would love to hear feedback.


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